


I'll Always Be A Bad Bad Seed

by gala_apples



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Bondage, Breathplay, Casual Sex, Choking, Crushes, F/F, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Klaus Doesn't Like Aftercare, M/M, Masochism, Multiple Orgasms, Nonbinary Character, Predicament Bondage, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rough Body Play, Scratching, Spanking, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: On the first day of October, 1989, forty three women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of them had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.He got twenty eight of them.Klaus Hargreeves, though. Klaus only wants to bang one of them.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 11
Kudos: 157





	I'll Always Be A Bad Bad Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'sadomasochism' prompt for seasonofkink.
> 
> The moment I heard the song [I Told You I Was Mean, by Elle King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9AuT-eiQq8) it hit me as a Five/Klaus song. It was supposed to be a short fic centred around Klaus' crush on Five, but all the other Hargreeves kept wanting to have a say. And so I ended up with this?
> 
> Lastly, Klaus identifies as pansexual and nonbinary, and uses he/him pronouns.

“Tell me something Five said today,” Klaus asks Ned. He’s on his back on the Cherokee teenager’s bed, delicate blouse borrowed from Allison gaining wrinkles by the second, and he needs information.

“You ask me that all the time,” Ned complains.

“Not my fault Herr Hargreeves pairs you two for training. I’m just the useless C Team fairyboy who can’t get information any other way.”

“The amount of information you want is weird.” 

“Hey stalker,” Azumbi asks. “Want me to roll a joint?”

“Have you ever known me to not want a joint rolled?” It’s Ned and Azumbi’s constantly smoke laden presence that stops him from dipping his toes into the deep end of the narcotics pool. After all, he needs something to keep the dead at bay.

As Azumbi works his grinder to get the perfect consistency, Klaus reaches out to poke Ned with a socked foot. A regulation sock, not a pretty one, unfortunately. There are a few girls here that are willing to borrow him clothing, but none of them have size twelve feet. “Tell me one thing and I’ll stop.”

“Yeah, try that with someone who hasn’t known you from infancy. You have never once stopped anything.”

Klaus snorts. “True, yes. But pull up the parallels, and tell me if there’s a world where I stop asking if you don’t tell me anything.”

Azumbi laughs. “Ned doesn’t need to get his Crux on to know you’re an asshole. Come on man, just tell him Five bitched at Sir Sweetiepants about wanting to time travel again. I’m fucking positive he did that at least once today.”

“Klaus, you get that Five hates me, right? For like three deadass years now? Ever since I looked at the crux of him teleporting through time and saw him getting stuck in the future and Hargreeves forbid it. He knows I’m right, so he hasn’t disobeyed, but he fuckin’ hates me for it.”

“You can still have a conversation with someone who hates you,” Klaus whines.

“Yeah, I mean look at us talking right now.”

“Haha fuck you.”

Azumbi uses his skills as The Nod to levitate the joint up to the bed. Klaus still has to stretch an arm out to get it, The Nod’s skills only working vertically, much to Sir Shithead’s disappointment. Very rarely does Azumbi make it out onto the streets. Not that Klaus has room to talk. Even if he was sober, his shit is utterly useless for the average bank robbery or hostage negotiation. Klaus takes a deep hit from the neatly rolled joint and exhales only after it hits the good part of his lungs. Inhaling that deep feels like a puzzle piece slotting into place. It always has. The likelihood of other drugs feeling the same has made him equal parts nervous and sickly anticipating about future escalation.

“He’s just so mean,” Klaus says. “I bet he’d fuck mean too.”

“Oh my god, so ask him.”

“Should I?” Before he can be misinterpreted Klaus rushes to add, “I’m not actually asking. This room is a crux free zone.” Bad enough Hargreeves is constantly making Ned spend hours devising battle plans, he doesn’t need to be bothered in his free time. Ned is a card carrying member of the Fuck Our Powers club, of which there are a few others. Ben used to hang out with them way more, but now he’s got a girlfriend. Which, to be fair, if Klaus actually makes his way into Five’s pants he’s only leaving them for the apocalypse, fuck friends, community, and mealtime.

“Literally the worst he can do is say he’s straight. Fucking do it, bitch,” Azumbi croaks through a mouthful of smoke.

Klaus’ venue is obvious. He will approach at one of the midnight parties. Hopefully Five will be drunk enough to give him a fuckin’ bone, and by that Klaus does mean participate in an act of charity, which just so happens to be boning.

Not everyone comes to these late night gatherings. Some, like Luther and Karina, genuinely believe Reggie’s ‘be the best you can be’ shit, and that means no distractions like parties. Others, like Wally, like Vanya, fear the punishment Sir would hand down, should they get busted. Sir’s real good at individualized punishment. Klaus should fit in that category, what with the mausoleum and all, but he likes the liquor too much. And there’s one or two who’s powers just don’t jive with intoxication. Technically speaking he probably fits in that category too. It does entirely inhibit his abilities, he just doesn’t care. All that said, there’s still a solid ten to twelve people hanging out on any given night.

Walking in, the closest person to him with a drink already in hand is Diego. Klaus plucks the cup from his fingers, knowing it’ll be Vanilla Coke and rum. It’s not Klaus' favourite, but it’s better than nothing, and better than waiting the two minutes it would take to mix his own from the backpack full of liquor bottles and sodas. Both equally a sin in Reggie’s eyes, alcohol and sugar, so thank fuck for Samuel and his ability to create pocket universes to hide contraband in. 

“You little fuck,” Diego mutters. He doesn’t snatch the cup back though, so Klaus can handle the name calling.

Ned’s nowhere to be seen. He’s either too stoned to stand up, or he’s trapped in a Crux, trapped in the maelstrom of possible futures that come on like a kaleidoscope shoved through an eye socket. The fact of the second one sucks, and Klaus can hope it’s not true, but there’s nothing he can do to help if it is, Ned just has to wait it out, so there’s no reason to be a hero searching him out. Azumbi is here though, so Klaus knows whatever goes down tonight, Ned will be thoroughly filled in tomorrow.

“He always drinks whiskey,” Klaus comments, gazing across the room at the object of his desire. “I bet he tastes like fire.”

“He does not only drink whiskey,” Azumbi laughs. “He fuckin’ drinks margaritas all the time.”

“I want to taste him anyway.”

“Yeah, well, no shit.”

Klaus takes a deep sip of the cola and booze concoction. Azumbi’s staring at him with raised eyebrows, and when Klaus goes to take a second sip he gets a hard elbow in the ribs. 

“Owww.”

“Fuckin’ do something, fucknut.”

“Okay, but only if you don’t hurt me anymore.” Even if Azumbi wasn’t totally straight -that one stoned make out session was short and unfulfilling- Klaus doesn’t want to get distracted. He has a goal, and that goal is Five fucking his throat until he cries.

“I will hurt you on the day you wake up with boobs and a vadge, dude. I promise. Until then, go get yours.”

It’s probably a bad idea to be doing this. This is probably terrible. Azumbi and Ned are not legitimate screens for bad ideas, they’re as fucking dumb as he is unless Ned’s using his power. But Klaus wants, and Five looks so pretty and mean tonight. Klaus jerks off to the idea of mean, most days. Interrupting the conversation Five and Cypher are having -maybe it’s about how they’re both nerds who won’t use their Grace assigned name and instead use purchase order or powered name- Klaus steps into their space. 

“Hey, so. Uh. Can I suck your dick? Five, I mean. Sorry Cypher. I’m sure you’ve got a very nice one too, but it’s not where my heart’s settled, you know?”

“What. The fuck.” Five says deeply derisive. Probably the most derisive Klaus has ever heard, and that’s saying something, as one of Hargreeves’ failed projects.

Okay, backpedaling now. Only half for the obvious reason of the shame of rejection. The cruel tone’s also got him a semi, and nobody at this gathering needs to know what he’ll do with that. Azumbi will guess, no doubt, and inform Ned so they can both laugh at him for being so hair trigger, but that’s tomorrow-Klaus problem.

On his way out he diverts once more to Diego, who’s poured himself a new sweet and spicy drink. Even if Klaus isn’t going to stay here to enjoy himself, he might as well have a few shots worth of a buzz. This time however Diego shoves him into the nearest wall with the hand not holding the cup out of reach.

“Fucking q-quit it,” Diego says at the exact moment that Klaus moans. He can’t help it. Call it a defense mechanism, or crossed wires, but rough handling does it for him more than just about anything else. Give him waterboarding over a handjob any day.

“Klaus?”

“Shut up.” It’s harder to be nonchalant in this moment, he’s not sure why. 

“Klaus, do you w-want me to push you a-again?” 

Klaus knows Diego knows what he’s offering. There’s no one in this school that doesn’t know Klaus is pansexual. He didn’t know the same applied to Diego, but now doesn’t seem like the moment to congratulate him on his coming out journey.

“Not here,” he answers.

They run to Diego’s room so fast it’s like he really is with Five blinking from one place to the next. And it really is just that for a minute; just Diego shoving him around his bedroom. Each time Klaus hits a wall Diego shoves a forearm against his chest, tight, and roughly gropes him outside his jeans before shoving him again. Klaus is going to be bruised all over, he already knows. His dick shouldn’t be so hard from the idea, but he’s not surprised. He’s one of only two students who’s torture and interrogation resistance training came to a quick end. Turns out it’s awkward for Pogo and Reggie to deal with an erection in the middle of putting pins under fingernails. Oops.

“Can I do other stuff? Or just pushing?”

Ahhh, consent as illustrated in the sex ed talks Pogo gave the boys and Lulu gave the girls. Not that they were particularly gendered or oriented, because dear Reggie couldn’t give a fuck about his charges gender expressions or sexuality status. Much too personal to give targeted useful info. So everyone got Klaus’s nonbinary info, just like everyone got Karin’s ace info. 

“Stick to the push aesthetics,” Klaus laughs. He knows what he’s about. 

Whether or not Diego knows the word aesthetics, he understands the command. The next surface Diego slams him into is the desk, and Diego pins him there by the chest with enough weight that he’s bent like a drinking straw. It’s uncomfortable as hell to have the edge of the desk dig into his back like that and Klaus loves it. He struggles against the hold a little bit, but only so that Diego will shove him down again. 

“Sh sh show me you want to get off,” Diego says. His knee is against Klaus' dick, and Klaus is not nearly too embarrassed to rut against it. He saw this porn once, a fake military setting where the lowly grunt had to rub himself against the general’s boot. Klaus doesn’t particularly have a boot fetish, but it was hot at the time, and this scene with Diego answers the self reflective question of if he would have done the same.

Klaus thrusts forward desperately. He’s not too proud to make a scene. He’s literally never been proud a day in his life. The pressure Diego is exerting on him in all directions is wild. And he wants every inch of it to bruise.

Diego spins them again, slamming Klaus into a wall. He braces a forearm against his chest, the other against Klaus’ fucking throat, and he’d moan to the world about how good that is, except he can’t fucking breathe. The same knee slots between his legs, and Klaus doesn’t even consider questions of pride this time, just ruts with everything he’s got. It’s on a choking breathless inhale that Klaus comes, creams his jeans like he’s spraying aerosolized whipped cream.

Diego loosens the pressure on his throat then. Disappointing, but understandable. Klaus’ fists slacken to open hands, and he uses them to pull on the hem of Diego’s shirt. “What do you want, Dee? Do whatever you want.”

Diego raises Klaus' shirt, holding it to his chest with a flat palmed hand. In his left hand is his cock. He strokes himself ferociously, and in under a minute he’s having his alcohol fueled orgasm. Klaus has never had someone come on him like a human jizz rag before. Surprise, another weird thing he’s totally into.

“Klaus?” Diego says, hesitantly.

“Yeah?” Here comes the ‘I’m not gay, don’t tell anyone’ speech, Klaus just knows it. Alcohol’s great because it can make you do stupid things, but some people’s sense of regret is far more fine tuned then his own.

“You- You know we’re not dating now, right?”

“What?”

“I know you don’t have a boyfriend, but I don’t want to date right now. I’m sorry if you thought-”

A lot of people at the Academy have dated each other. Members of the A-Team get all the outings, the exposure, the meetings with strangers. It’s unfair that the teens most able to exchange MSN messenger names and have outside contact are the ones most bought into the batshit culture Hargreeves is trying to cultivate, and therefore least likely to appreciate what they’re granted. Klaus is extremely unlikely to gain a sane, unpowered boyfriend, unless he bumps up his sneaking out, so he gets what Diego is saying. He just couldn’t care less. Give him Five or give him death, and by death he means the occasional random hook up.

Klaus places both hands on Diego’s shoulders to make sure he’s looking at him. “I can honestly tell you I thought nothing of the sort. We both had fun, it was just fun. Go back to the party and come on someone else’s face for all I care.”

“Goodnight, Klaus,” Diego says with the smile of a man who’s gotten himself off the hook. 

Diego leaves first, to actually go back to the party for all Klaus knows. Klaus considers the alcohol there, but in the end heads back for his room. The calm that comes over him after rough sex is going to help him get to sleep, which means he’ll probably have a few hours before the ghosts start screaming again.

Klaus is nothing if not persistent. Except for the times when he isn’t. Klaus has range, okay? From a dog with a bone to a lizard with a bone, sometimes he doesn’t stop, sometimes he’s barely coherent of what’s around him. In this though, he’s going to forge ahead. So Five wasn’t attracted to him last night. So what? Maybe he was momentarily not attractive. As nonbinary and pan Klaus doesn’t really understand it, but he’s aware some people do have gender and sexuality expressions they’re not into. He was wearing pants and an unbuttoned shirt to hit on Five yesterday, so the next time he tries he should be wearing a skirt or dress, makeup and jewelry. Really show Five his range.

He’s got a few choice people to hit up for a good outfit. He’d have more of his own, except the small stipend Hargreeves provides -lord knows calling it an allowance like normal would be unacceptable- only stretches so far. Buying weed is exponentially more important than new clothes. Considering everyone’s looks, Klaus wants either Lannette or Allison if he’s going for full blown femme.

Klaus decides to try Allison first. She’s got a larger selection, and Klaus wants something that’ll really make Five swallow his own tongue. Well, and Klaus’ too, of course. If she’s not around Klaus can always hit up Lannette next. She might not be, her time being prized by just about everyone. Allison is the least brainwashed of the A Team. The Rumour can create reality at her will, but the thing is most of her reality is based on being Allison, budding actress, not being Reggie’s pawn. She can play that role because she can play any role, but it’s not what she wants. Walking that balance of her dreams and Sir’s takes up a lot of time.

Lucky him, when he opens her bedroom door she’s sitting at her mirror. “Hey Allison, my stunning, my gorgeous.”

“Hey Klaus,” she answers.

“I need an outfit.”

“When do you not need an outfit?”

Klaus shrugs, rolling his whole body with the motion. “Sometimes I go to Lanette or Maddy.” 

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I said when you do see me, it’s for clothes. It’s not bad, it’s just a transactional relationship.” Allison stands up and goes to the hanging rack that takes up an entire wall of her room. Most of her successful auditions let her take her clothing home. No doubt because she rumours them to, but Klaus isn’t judging. If he could get the dead to give him free shit he’d take the hell out of it. “So an outfit. Got something specific in mind?”

“Yes,” Klaus says firmly.

“Okay. What?”

“Dress me like a fucktoy.” 

“Jesus, Klaus.”

“Come on. Pretend you were into me. What would make you wetter than the Niagara Falls seeing me in?”

Klaus can see the moment Allison switches into thinking it’ll be fun. She quirks a smile and strokes the fingertips of her left hand down the edges of her hanging clothes. Klaus takes a few steps into the room and closes the door. He doesn’t care if other students walk past and see him changing, but some of them are real prudish complainers about that sort of thing. 

“Well, you need a short skirt. Look at those legs.”

It’s not surprising that Allison thinks they’re his best quality. She likes height, it’s one of the things that makes her relationship of unresolved sexual tension with Luther tick. Complete Adonis looks. Klaus personally thinks his best qualities are his expressive eyes and face, and maybe his butt, but he’ll consider being a leg-person. 

He kicks off his jeans and socks as Allison flicks through hangers. He runs warm. If it wasn’t more trouble than it was worth, considering the inevitable complaints and lectures, Klaus would be a nudist. Just relax naked, casually, everywhere. He’s picking through her jewelry tree when Allison gets his attention back with a whistle.

“Try this one,” she insists. She doesn’t comment on his going commando. All of the girls who trade clothes with him are over it, as long as he washes things before returning them.

The skirt is short, and black. It’s got thick pleats tucked into a wide waistband. Klaus tugs it up his thighs and contorts his arm to get the tiny zipper done up. He whirls in front of Allison’s full length mirror and smiles at the way the fabric lands. He’ll have to think of ways to move suddenly in front of Five. Maybe he’ll go to Azumbi and Ned to brainstorm first, before tracking him down.

“Yeah, that’s it. You don’t have to try anything else on,” Allison says decisively.

“You think?”

“Fishing for a compliment?”

“Yes, of course. This is a clothes trading sesh, I need either glowing reviews or funny bitchy commentary.” Allison is good at both, making someone feel loved and being a total bitch. Klaus would hang out with her more, if it wasn’t for the bits of A-Team rhetoric that stuck to her, the ‘you can do better with your powers, Klaus’ thing. No, he can’t, or if he can he doesn’t care.

“You’re so tall a mid-length skirt is a slutty look. Anyone ever tell you you have great legs?”

“Oh, these gams?” Klaus says in a falsetto.

Allison snickers and begins her search for the top. She has him try a few different things; a red halter top, a grey and pink striped crop top, a unbuttoned purple blouse. Klaus likes the look of all of them, but Allison keeps shaking her head and telling him to try the next. It’s the sixth attempt that sticks, that pins a lustful expression to her face. The top in question is a tunic, a sheer black long sleeved tunic with a deep neck. It’s loose, and long enough that the hem just barely sits above the hem of the skirt. It’s obviously meant to be worn with a tank underneath, but Allison only gave him this, and Klaus wasn’t about to complain.

“You look good. To quote Abigail, mission objective completed.”

Seeing as the objective was to be completely objectified, Klaus preens a little under the praise. Five will see him, and drool, and Klaus will get what he wants. He’ll get a sneer and a slap and to come his fucking brains out.

Once again Allison switches stances, this time from trying to keep the blooming lust under wraps to being honest about it. “The thing about framing you as a fucktoy is now I want to play. Can little Klaus come out to play?”

Klaus makes a production of feeling his junk, disturbing the pleats to grope himself. “Big Klaus, you mean.” 

Allison smirks.

He considers the offer. Not what Klaus intended for today, but she’s beautiful. “No strings?”

“Like I said, we’ve never not had a transactional relationship. So no strings, yeah. Maybe some fabric though,” Allison finishes, reaching out to stroke the scant inches of fabric covering his thigh.

Allison makes quick work of stripping down to nothing, the naked to his fully clothed. She pushes him to the bed, flips up the skirt to reveal his cock and climbs on. The bounce of Allison’s tits as she rides him is mesmerizing. Usually Klaus is happy with his body, not a lot of time for dysphoria in his gender expression, but there’s no getting around it that sometimes he’d like to have tits. He doesn’t touch them, doesn’t want his hands in the way of the view. Instead he keeps his thumb on her clit, arm following the rhythm of her body. They’ve all been trained in rhythm and flow since their first baby steps, Klaus can manage this.

Klaus comes deep inside Allison, letting her cunt milk him. He’s heard this is not a thing with outside girls, but you don’t house twenty eight teenagers without safety precautions. Each month Grace gives them inoculations that keep them temporarily sterile.

“I want to try a game with you, okay?”

Klaus is new to the realm of real life kink, though his Pornhub history knows no bounds. Every lesson Reggie’s ever taught them says don’t agree without terms. Lucky for Allison, Klaus doesn’t put much stock in dear old Reginald. He looks up at Allison, still perched on top of his softening cock. “Okay.”

“Pick a weird word that means stop.”

“What?”

“Previous experience has taught me that sometimes people say stop when they don’t mean it. So stop is for fun and, I dunno, ‘ghost’ is for actual stop?”

“Fuck that.” Klaus is not putting ghosts into his sex life. Bad enough he’s had to acclimatize to them being around when he’s jerking it, sometimes. “Cube. If I say cube to whatever your game is, it means stop for real.”

“I heard a rumour you got hard again.”

Klaus shudders as his body reacts to Allison’s order, bites his lip as the girl on top of him flickers into The Rumor then back to herself. Within seconds she’s back to bouncing on his fully hard cock. He’s a little sensitive post-orgasm, but it probably makes him a better fuck, more attentive to his partner to take some of the thoughts off his own body. At the very least his rocking hips leave Allison gasping her way to her own orgasm. She stops bouncing then, but she lets Klaus keep fucking into her until he’s completing his second round, like the well comported gentlelady she is.

Allison draws herself off the length of him, and settles with her sweaty legs spread wide beside him. He’s pretty sure she’s leaking him out over her comforter. If he had a little more energy he’d roll onto his belly and lick it out of her, lick her to another orgasm, but Klaus is tired. He last smoked hours ago, some prime sativa shit that gives him a ton of energy. It’s worn off, and he’s flooded with the hormones that come after sex. He lazily stays on his back, looking at her mint painted ceiling, hoping that the pleats of the skirt aren’t too crushed. He still wants them to flare if he twirls in front of Five.

Leaning over, Allison puts her lips to Klaus’ ear. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Maybe a light lick, a make out session a way to ramp down from sex to straightening up and leaving. Or maybe a fun bitchy comment about his skills. Definitely not what he gets, which is her whispering “I heard a rumor that you had another orgasm.” 

It’s all the build up of sex on fast forward. His skin flushes and he breaks out in a sweat. Klaus throws his head back, burying the crown in her purple pillow, and arches his hips up. His come splatters across the skirt, and the hem of the long tunic.

“Jesus,” he gasps.

“What’s that?” she croons. Before Klaus can gasp out his question she dances her fingers across the thin sheer fabric of his ribcage and murmurs, “I heard a rumor that you had another orgasm.”

This one hurts, a little. It makes his stomach feel like it’s cramping, to come for a fourth time in fifteen minutes.

The fifth one hurts more. His whole body is tense, his muscles don’t relax before she’s Rumoring his sixth. Irony of course being that the pain is good, the pain of false erections and sore balls arousing him for real. Sixth, seventh, eighth, Klaus gets now why she said stop and no couldn’t count as a real call to end the scene, because it hurts so much, is so overwhelming that he has no idea what he’s actually saying out loud and what’s in his head and what’s too muffled by gasps and tears to be understood anyway.

Klaus less leaves Allison’s room than stumbles out incoherently. He’s so sweaty the borrowed clothes are plastered to him. They’re also covered in more jizz than he knew his balls had. He’s staggering like a newborn deer, limbs both noodly and burning from muscles being clenched for too long. Klaus never looked more fucked out in his life, so of course that's when he crosses path with Five.

He can’t let the opportunity go to waste. He’s a fucking mess, but some of the commenters on PornHub like that kind of thing. He knows those comments because he watches the videos they’re from. Klaus dredges up the cutest smile he has and says “hey, Fivey. I’ve just had like fifteen orgasms, so I’m pretty tapped out. But I could blow you, if you want?”

Five sneers at him and resumes walking. Klaus tingles at the sneer, then nearly pukes at the pain of his body trying to be aroused again, then gets more turned on by that pain. Klaus needs to go lie down naked, or in a clean and sensible nightgown, and not let anything else touch him until he falls asleep and wakes up refreshed. He might die, otherwise.

A few days of dressing femme later and Five hasn’t ravished him a single smidge. It’s not like it’s a hardship to look pretty, but it is annoying that Five isn’t using any of the skirts as a reason to blow him and scratch bloody valleys into his ass.

Frustrated, Klaus uses Casey’s power to find out Five is in one of the battle rooms with Luther. It would be a mock battle worth watching; strength and lowered pain receptors vs the unpredictability of teleportation and a love of knives rivaling only Diego’s, if only they all hadn’t seen it a hundred times. Except for the drank the Koolaid A Team true believers, everyone all kind of got over observing training battles years ago. There’s only so many times Allison can rumour someone to stop or Azumbi can smash someone into the ceiling before it gets old. But Klaus isn’t here to watch, he’s here to get a goddamn answer. 

Klaus throws open the door, shouting “what do I have to do, enter the room backwards with leather pants pulled down to my knees?”

Klaus doesn’t know what’s more baffling: that after directly asking human GPS Casey where Five is, he’s not fucking here, or that Luther replies to him. “That could be a good look on you.”

“Um. What?”

“If you’re not going to bother wearing the uniform Sir provides all of us” -and damn is it unsettling to hear the gratitude in Spaceboy’s voice, he has drunk so much fucking Koolaid- “you might as well present yourself accordingly.”

“I’m going to say again, um, what?”

A cloud comes over Luther’s face. “If you don’t want to do this, it’s okay. I just thought- I mean, you started it. But that doesn’t mean you need to do anymore.” 

And as Klaus finally gets over the shock of wholesome milquetoast Luther being dirty minded and some quotient of bisexual he realises no, actually. He’s super cool with continuing. “Oh, I dunno Number One. I’m pretty squirmy. You have a way of stopping that?”

Luther remains unpredictable. He uses Klaus’ pants to tie his left wrist to his left ankle, and his own to tie the rights. Sooner or later all the blood will rush to his head but for now he’s okay. Not comfortable. Extremely on display. But okay.

It’s a huge shock, the first time Luther hits him. It’s not painful, persae. Luther’s had a decade of practice in modifying his strength for weaker people and objects. He’d no more shatter Klaus’ coccyx than one of Sir’s antique vases. Still it’s a shock that makes Klaus bite his lips. 

“Yes or no,” Luther asks.

Kick him all the way down the staircase to hell but “yes.”

“Okay then.” Luther spanks him twice more from where he’s standing then Klaus simultaneously hears a thud and feels the floor vibrate under his bare feet. Luther’s eye level with his ass now. He must want the close up details of where his hand falls are reddening Klaus’ skin. Klaus can’t blame him. He’d watch that shit in a mirror if he could.

That’s when Luther truly loses his goddamn mind. He leans forward and licks Klaus’ ass. Not even the skin he’s just reddened, which would make sense. The actual hole. Klaus flinches forward, momentarily forgetting how shakey his balance is. He’s blushing like fuck, but why would Luther care? Luther can’t even see his face. He could Luther not to, to stop doing the fucked up thing he’s doing. Luther’s already made it clear that Klaus can call it quits at any time, and even if he hadn’t said so, Klaus would know. Luther’s too lawful and moralistic and good to be rapey. Klaus doesn’t say anything, not even when Luther’s tongue swirls over him and he feels kinda like he wants to die. There’s something hot about having to push through the embarrassment. He can’t help squirming though. 

“Stay where I put you until I tell you to move.” Luther raises an arm to steady Klaus' hip, then slams his other hand down on his ass. It’s brutal and punishing and Klaus knows Luther could hit him so much harder, this is gentle for Number One. It’s a thrilling thought. 

Again and again and again Luther spanks him. The heated pain is quickly getting to him. Klaus’ concern of his blood rushing to his head turns out to be bullshit, because all his blood is in his ass and his dick. Maybe his bottom lip too, which is tightly bitten between his upper and lower teeth. His cock is drilling a crater into his abdomen. God. 

The next time Luther licks his ass Klaus cares way less about the weirdness. How could he possibly feel fucked up for liking a tongue on his asshole when he’s about to bust a nut over getting spanked, cock untouched? 

“If you’re the kinda guy who cares about who comes first, you should know I’m close.”

Apparently all Luther needed was a trigger sign, because next thing Klaus knows Luther is standing up and groaning. He fully paints Klaus’ ass with come. 

“Oh yeah, that’s the way you should always look.”

Klaus can’t say he feels any differently. “Gimme one or two more whacks, and I’ll be good.”

Luther spanks him all the way to orgasm. Klaus is coming untouched for the second time this week. It’s something else Luther and Allison have in common, should they ever cross that line. Though if he’s thinking like that, Klaus also can’t help but notice Luther and Diego both coming all over him. He knows better than to mention it though. Those two hate each other, male ego shit Klaus just can’t latch himself onto. 

Afterwards, Luther unties the pants binding Klaus. He helps him to the floor, which is nice. Klaus can admit to feeling a little woozy, a little drunk from pain. But it gets weirder. Luther sits on the training room floor and pulls Klaus into his lap for a cuddle. He doesn’t seem to care at all that he’s smearing himself with spunk, just is so self sacrificing and earnest about it. It makes Klaus itch. He allows it for about ten seconds, then he’s squirming out of the hold and springing to his feet.

“Yeah, so no? No thanks to that, big guy.”

“But what I’ve read says that afterc-”

“I know, I get it. You wanna follow the rules. But I don’t want to and this is all about me and my comfort, right? So I say I’m more comfortable going now. Pass me my pants.” If Luther tries to coddle him like a sympathetic leader, Klaus might scream. He wanted to fool around with a guy, not ten pounds of brainwashing in a five pound sack.

Klaus escapes with his sanity intact, retreats to his room and floats. When the endorphins mellow out he smokes a bowl to keep the sensation going. It’s a good night.

While Klaus waits for the light bruising to heal, he thinks about what he really wants from Five. His best kinky hopes, and what little scraps he’d agree to take from him. By the time he’s as pale as the day he was born, Klaus can distill it to a three sentence conversation starter.

Which he uses, the next time he sees Five. “Hey, but have you considered this? If you don’t want to have sex with me you could let me lay on the floor and you could kick me a few times. Or just sit there and call me some mean shit, whatever comes off the top of your head.”

“Go. Now.”

Well, you don’t get much clearer than that, do you? Klaus leaves as per request. He can try again later, when Five’s feeling a little less cranky. For now he’s going to track down his third favourite bestie, demoted for the current lack of time they’re spending together. There’s only so long Klaus will tolerate being ignored by Ben. Whoever said third wheels are bad has never seen a goddamn tricycle.

Vanya is in Ben's room, of course. It was either that or track down Ben in Vanya’s. They’re that kind of couple. They’re crosslegged with textbooks draped over their laps, but Klaus doesn’t buy the innocence. He’s made out in far more uncomfortable positions than slightly weighted at the thigh.

“Of course I get that my once best friend is knee deep in pussy, but can a boy who platonically loves a boy stand here in respectful hip waders and be adjacent to the lake for some conversation?”

Ben sighs. “You’re such a fucking idiot. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Not too often, don’t want me to cream my jeans.”

“Jesus.”

Klaus said it because it’d make Ben cringe laugh, which is close to the best humour anyone gets out of the guy. Turns out having eldritch abominations in your stomach that your caretaker forces you to murder people with makes a fellow a little mopey. He doesn’t say it like it’s a sparkling new coming out truth because literally everybody already knows. And yet, that’s how Vanya reacts, wide eyed.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Eh?”

She continues, “or that good, I guess? Could you really get off just on someone being mean?”

Klaus shrugs expansively, dropping onto the desk chair he’s twisted to face the bed. With all the shit scattered on it, a chair placed inches away from the edge of the mattress is the next best option for getting close to his bud. “Bust my heart, bust a nut.”

Vanya makes that face she makes when she’s steeling herself to call out the White Violin. “You’re. You’re a jerk.”

Klaus eyes flare. The words do nothing, because he’s not in the third grade -never actually got to attend any grade and potentially learn how to react to bullying appropriately, thanks Reginald- but the implication of them is very interesting.

“Why Vanya Hargreeves, are you flirting with me? What would your dearest Ben say?”

“I’d say, if you’re okay with it-” Ben trails off and Klaus thinks Ben's figuring out how to proposition him. Then Ben reaches out and slaps him in the face, and Klaus _knows_ he’s propositioning him. 

“You’re both sure about this? I won’t be the one everyone’s mad at after, in a non-fun way?”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“Talked about it casually, or _talked_ about it?”

Neither answer verbally, but they both get off the bed. Ben unzips his jeans and Vanya criss crosses her arms at the hem to pull her shirt off. It’s a hell of an answer. His little Benjamin is kinkier than he thought, dirty talking about others in bed.

Oh wait, no. He really _is_ kinkier. Vanya is a sight to be seen with her shirt off. Her breasts are absolutely covered in small circular bruises, like if there was a military camo option that was purple and sickly yellow and peach. “Are those sucker marks?” 

Does Ben let the horror out in the bedroom? He’s never thought about that before but it’s oddly intriguing. Klaus can imagine them in a less violent form, restraining him by the ankles and wrists. One tendrilling up his ass, another in his mouth, another curled around his cock and balls. If Ben has figured out a way to calm them enough for other uses, Vanya is a lucky girl.

“Do you call them your bentacles? Oh, oh! Or your consentacles?” How many other puns can he think of? Surely there must be more.

“Klaus, what the fuck no! They’re just hickies. Part of the club, remember?”

That is true. Ben has always been a card carrying hater of his powers. It’s just, it’s a lot of hickies for one mouth. Either Ben and Vanya have sex like eight times a day, or Ben spends most of each encounter biting. As much as Klaus is a good dude who wishes Vanya many multiple orgasms, he really hopes it’s the latter. That could be very fun right about now.

Well, he’s hardly about to let them be the most naked ones in the room, now is he? Klaus spends a moment wriggling out of his clothes, then does them all the favour of shoving the textbooks and binders to the floor. Once it’s clear he can drop onto Ben’s bed and splay out. If they want him, in whatever way they discussed wanting him, he's a blank canvas for them to start the art.

Ben kneels at the end of the bed, between Klaus’ spread legs. It’s a bit lacking in foreplay, especially for the kind of lover he assumed Ben would be, but he’s hardly going to complain about near future dick sucking. Vanya must want to get the same angle on events that Klaus has, because she slots in right beside him. They’re hip to hip, sideboob to rib cage. Not his fault that she’s the shortest person he knows. 

Except Ben doesn’t go for the beautiful cock laid out before him. Instead he curls his hand around Klaus inner thigh and shoves his leg to the right as far as it’ll go. Klaus goes with the positioning. He doesn’t mind being posed.

Ben’s teeth sink into the crease between leg and pelvis and Klaus shrieks. That’s going to bruise. It’s going to bruise hard, and note to self to wear a longer skirt for the next few days, because skirts are easier for going commando and having underwear elastic digging into a ripe bruise will leave him half hard all day. Priapism leads to nasty needles best to be avoided. Klaus can’t imagine what’s a worse way to get a needle in the dick; a strange ER doctor or Grace, his defacto mother. No thank you.

“You suck.”

“Hey Van? I know you’re trying, but it’s not quite there. You want to maybe bite me too or something?” Klaus can give her points for effort, but the execution is just sad.

Thankfully Vanya’s the type to accept constructive criticism. Vanya rakes her nails across his chest, leaving tingling parallel lines in her wake.

“Holy shit, yes, that's way better. Do that until your heart’s content, mam.”

Klaus doesn’t notice lubricant being passed. One moment he’s spread wide open, the next there are wet fingers pressing at his asshole. It’s been way too long since someone touched him there. He shifts on the bed, doing his best to give Ben the most access possible.

Ben fingers him steadily. Slowly, like he’s in no rush for anything to happen. The honey drip pleasure of it contrasts nicely with the sharpness of what else is going on. Namely Ben’s face buried in his groin, nipping at his balls. Klaus knows he doesn’t have to worry about Ben breaking the skin, he’s only biting hard enough to sting. But it’s stinging in a place he’s never been stung before, and the thrill he gets is close to overwhelming. Meanwhile Vanya is still scratching him, and plucking his nipples. Never mind death by a thousand paper cuts, this is petite mort by skin irritation.

He gets there, on the bizarre combination of biting and scratching and the stretch of fingers up his ass. Klaus could say never has he had an orgasm this weird, but it’s been a long two weeks, so that’s not entirely accurate. He can see a little bit of his come in Ben’s hair, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind.

“What do you want me to do for you now? Is it something specific?”

“Just stay where you are.”

He’s not expecting to become a body pillow, but that's exactly what happens. Ben lays Vanya down on top of him, his soft cock nestled in her asscheeks, and climbs on top the both of them to start fucking her. No one seems to care that her wild hair is tickling his nose or between the two of them they’re actually quite heavy. But it’s fine. Klaus said he’d do whatever. Human mattress was not technically on that brainstormed list, but it’s fine. 

As Ben fucks his girlfriend, Klaus strokes his fingers feather light across Vanya’s sides. She’s thin enough that he can feel the bones of her ribs. He hopes the gentle touches are an interesting counterpart to the hickey he can hear being sucked into her breast. A leather glove/riding crop dichotomy can be fun, he would know.

He can feel when Vanya comes because the hard bone of her skull digs into his collarbone. That and the curtains flutter wildly, despite the window being closed, no breeze. Ben’s grunting is all the proof Klaus has of his release, but a moment after it stops both of them are rolling off of him.

As is his nature, Klaus has very little interest in sticking around for the post sex cuddling. As is Ben’s nature, he doesn’t have it within him to stand up and try to convince Klaus to stay once he’s leapt up and started putting his clothes back on. Instead he stays on the bed, drawing circles with his fingertips over Vanya’s skin. Klaus can’t blame him. When you have a significant other, pleasing them is important.

Still, he dropped by for a reason. A message must be given. “Look, come hang out, okay? Ned and Azumbi miss you too, and they don’t have the excuse of a fun threesome to reconnect. You can even bring Vanya if you want. I’m sure there are downsides to being the White Violin, right?”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Vanya answers with a small smile. “If I dwell on being unhappy I’m likely to bring the Academy down, brick by brick. Twenty eight teenagers provide a lot of sound I can channel.”

See, in Klaus' book the inability to safely feel feelings is exactly the thing that should draw someone to their misanthropic group, but each to their own. As long as Ben comes by, Vanya can do as she pleases.

Klaus is continuing to live his life in a do as you please manner when it happens. The holy grail, the miracle, the sports metaphor he couldn’t manage at even his most masculine. Five approaches him, face as deliciously sour as ever. Klaus all but wriggles in his seat, waiting for an insult to jerk off over later.

“I suggest you come to my room tonight.” 

The command comes out of nowhere and for a minute Klaus doesn’t know how to process it. Not long, in the grand scheme of things, but long enough for Five’s quick witted nature to turn. “Unless you’ve been so high the whole time you don’t even remember what you’ve asked me.” 

“No! no. I remember. I’ll be there with bells on. Or a skirt, or tight pants, or a cock ring. Whatever you want!” 

“I hardly care what you wear. But nothing’s happening if you’re stoned.”

“Uh.” That’s a mighty tall order, Klaus thinks.

“Beyond baseline, at least. I’m aware you self-medicate, that the asshole hasn’t found a better solution, most likely because it doesn’t suit him to. But if you’re incoherent I can’t do what I want to do.” 

“Well we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Klaus knows how to time his usage so that the spirits will still be gone but he can pull off sober for the drug squeamish.

“Eight pm,” Five imparts on him, then walks away.

Klaus gets up too. Not to follow Five and ask for details, he’s pretty much positive that would get him at best shut down, at worst his invitation rescinded. No, the goal now is obvious. He needs to find Ned and Azumbi and scream at them for the next four hours. Only when they’re begging him to shut the fuck up, will he consider taking a breath.

At seven fifty five Klaus is freshly showered and shaved and walking down the hall that hosts Five’s bedroom. Five is absolutely the kind of guy that considers people precisely on time late. Klaus isn’t risking anything coming in the way of him getting off with the cruel crush of his dreams.

It’s a wee bit of a surprise that Five opens the door wearing the Academy uniform, but not really. He never takes it off, despite the dress code stating they only need to wear it when there’s a chance they’ll be seen by the media. Klaus assumes it’s for the same reasons he calls himself by his transaction number, to really stick to the disillusionment of Hargreeves being anything like a caretaker, or a believer in individual personality. Klaus gets it, obviously. He completely agrees that this boarding school is bullshit, and so is Sir. He’s just not giving up his feather boa in order to make the point.

“This is your one and only chance to walk away. If you don’t, I’m going to tie you up and use you for my entertainment. It’ll hurt. Are you going to stay?”

“Hell yeah!” People hurting him and disregarding him is literally exactly what he wants. Might as well ask if he’d stay for a punch bowl overflowing with weed, or a never ending playlist of music to dance to.

“Lay on your belly on the floor, at the end of the bed.”

“Naked?”

It’s hard to say what’s better, the disgusted sneer directed at him, or the way Five reaches out and slaps his face like it’s nothing. Klaus would wonder if Five took notes from Ben, or vice versa, except he doesn’t care about who thought it up first, the only thing that matters is how annoyed Five is. It’s volcanically hot. 

“What did I tell you to do?”

“Lay on the floor, and yeah, you didn’t say anything about getting naked. Sorry. Cool. I didn’t know it was gonna be that kind of sex. I can do it though. I can do orders. Sometimes. If they’re not from douchebags.”

Judging by Five’s expression, Klaus is about three seconds from getting another slap for rambling rather than following his instructions. It’s tempting to carry on, see if he can earn that reddened cheek. Problem is, Five is definitely the kind of guy to boot him out mid-scene if he’s being a brat. Klaus decides to cut his losses and drop to the floor. Even if Five doesn’t slap him again tonight, he’ll do _something_ brutal for Klaus to enjoy. 

At the Academy there are about five different kinds of bed, dresser and desk, each mix and matched with absolutely zero personal touch. If the rooms are customized at all, it’s the students doing, not Herr Hargreeves’ doing. Five has the lifted up bed with room for storage underneath, with the maple head and footboard. Five uses it to his advantage. He scoots Klaus back like you’d push an industrial broom, disinterested and perfunctory, until his ankles are against the footboard. Klaus doesn’t see where he gets the length of green and silver polypropylene braid that has no doubt been stolen from Reggie, just gets the pleasure of anticipation as Five begins to uncoil the hank. When the rope is fully unwound Five ties Klaus’ knees to the bed legs, and his ankles to the slats in the footboard, spreading him as far as he’ll go. 

Five doesn’t stop there. Next he ties his elbows and wrists together, bringing his forearms together behind his back. The lengths of Klaus’ thumbs nestle into his asscrack, making him wish he was naked so he could strain and maybe catch his rim. It’s an effect Klaus has no doubt Five precisely calculated. It completely figures Five would be so elaborate about this.

“You want to see what you’re getting next? I don’t care what you think, it’s happening, but would you like a sneak peek?”

“Yes, please.” Five seems like the kind of person you say please to.

Five shows him a thick dildo. Klaus wonders if he’s ever used it on himself and nearly comes in his pants. Maybe that’s why Five didn’t want him to get undressed, so when he does inevitably come from the rough treatment he’s been promised, there’s no mess. He uses the silicone suction cup to stick it in front of Klaus, exactly where his mouth would be if he was lips to the hardwood instead of looking up at Five.

Klaus is too curious for his own good. Despite knowing Five probably won’t like being questioned he wants to know enough to blurt out, “I’m not blowing you, and you’ve covered my ass and disabled my hands. What are you getting out of this?”

“Well, I think you might eventually cry. That’ll be hot.”

Jesus. A boy after his own heart.

Five’s elaborate scene doesn’t stop there. Not even close. The next toy Five brings out is a collar. Not a spiked punk rock collar, of which Klaus has rocked a time or two. This collar is thick, possibly three fingers wide. Five situates it so there’s a ring at the back. He strings it and ties it to the footboard too.

“So you can pull your chest up in locust pose, and deal with that pain as it goes on and on. Or you can flop to the floor and suck on a huge cock and let the collar choke you. It’s entirely up to you.”

Klaus knows exactly how much it hurts to keep a yoga pose for too long. They’ve all had a lot of strange torturous training sessions. He decides to try the dildo side of things first. It’s funny how much bigger it feels in Klaus’ mouth than it looked in Five’s competent hands. Without bobbing like he’s used to, with just holding it in his mouth, he can feel exactly how much room it takes up. The corners of his mouth are near splitting, and there’s a strain in his jaw that’ll only get stronger, Klaus knows. The collar is pulled tight against his adam’s apple, but it’s not cutting off his airway yet. 

Eventually he needs to breathe. His running eyes have triggered his other sinuses, and his mouth is full of drool. Klaus needs to swallow and snort and clear up. He arches his back up into locust pose and takes a few deep breaths.

It hurts sooner than he thought it would. Maybe because of the arm positioning, maybe he’s feeling everything more strongly than he should be, being so near sober. Klaus stops straining upwards and in the relief of slumping goes further down on the dildo than he had before. He’s gagging now, and the collar is so tight he can barely breathe.

From that point on, Klaus goes back and forth between the two awful choices every few seconds. Everything’s difficult, and hurts. There’s no kind option. When it all gets to be too much, the gagging and the struggling to inhale and the burn in his shoulders Klaus starts to grind himself against the hardwood floor. There’s no give, but it’s better than nothing and Five is obviously enjoying his standoffishness. Klaus can’t imagine him giving him a handjob now.

But he judged too soon, evidently. Five doesn’t deign to touch his cock, but he does get hands on. Or legs on, as it were. Five puts his knee high socked foot on the back of Klaus’ head and forces his head down far. The dildo’s deep down his throat, deeper than he could have achieved by himself. Klaus gags, certainly loud enough for Five to hear him, but he doesn’t let him off. Even if he could breathe around the massive pillar of rubber, the collar is cutting off his windpipe now. It’s all so bad he feels like he could die. It might be the hardest Klaus has ever been in his life.

He comes like that, suffocating and loving it. Way too soon Five moves his foot, removes the dildo from it’s jaunty position and unties the collar rope so Klaus can rest his multiple fluids dripping face on the floor. He understands the need for safety, they can’t do this again if he’s dead, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing it could have gone on forever.

Five continues his task of untying Klaus. By the time the ropes are fully removed, Klaus is ready to continue this. He pulls himself to sitting and looks up to Five. “So what am I doing for you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t need you right now. You can go.” 

It’s not like Five came in his pants and doesn’t need him. The outline of his erect cock is clear through the shorts he always wears. This is a power thing. He’s more turned on cruelly dismissing him than he would be getting a hand or blow job. Klaus doesn’t know why that's ferociously hot, it just is. There’s no question about it, he’s definitely going to jerk off imagining Five telling him to fuck off later tonight.

Klaus forces himself to his feet. His pants are soaked through and getting cold with wet, and there are rope marks on his forearms. He’d kill to see if the collar left a mark too. He needs to go pass out. He needs to go pack a bowl so that he can smoke the ghosts away the second he wakes up, and he needs to go have a nap.

“Klaus?”

He stops in the door frame, twists to look at Five. “Yeah?”

“Next time wear mascara. I want to see it drip down your face when you cry.”

“Will do.” He’ll have to poll the girls, find out the ‘worst’ brand for leaking so he can make sure to use that one. The bigger his makeup tracks, the better. Klaus doesn’t let Five see the joy in being wanted again, but he bet the boy notices anyway. Five is detail oriented like that. At least he doesn’t have to worry that it’s a call back out of politeness. Five would never care enough about someone else’s opinion to be polite.


End file.
